wed him, and, in an eager tone, continued:

"Ah! I knew you were hiding something. You are unhappy or in pain;
threatened perhaps? Ah! if you love me, tell me the truth!"

"Well, yes! It is true, I am threatened. I am suffering and unhappy! But
don't expect a confession from me. I should blush to make it. But, thank
Heaven, if I cannot extricate myself from the difficulty in which I am
placed through my own folly and imprudence--there is yet another way out
of it."

"Serge! you would kill yourself!" cried Micheline, terrified at the
gesture Panine had made. "What would become of me then? But what is
there that is so hard to explain? And to whom should it be said?"

"To your mother," answered Serge, bowing his head.

"To my mother? Very well, I will go to her. Oh! don't fear anything. I
can defend you, and to strike you she will first have to attack me."

Serge put his arms round Micheline, and with a kiss, the hypocrite
inspired her whom he entrusted with his safety with indomitable courage.

"Wait for me here," added the young wife, and passing through the little
drawing-room she reached the smoking-room.

She halted there a moment, out of breath and almost choked with emotion.
The long expected day had arrived. Serge was coming back to her.
She went on, and as she reached the door of the stair leading to her
mother's rooms, she heard a light tap from without.

Greatly astonished, she opened the door, and suddenly drew back,
uttering an exclamation. A woman, thickly veiled, stood before her.

At the sight of Micheline the stranger seemed inclined to turn and
fly. But overcome with jealousy, the young wife seized her by the arm,
dragged off her veil, and recognizing her, exclaimed:

"Jeanne!"

Madame Cayrol approached Micheline, and beseechingly stretched out her
hands:

"Micheline! don't think--I come--"

"Hold your tongue!" cried Micheline. "Don't tell me any lies! I know
all! You are my husband's mistress!"

Crushed by such a stroke, Jeanne hid her face in her hands and moaned:

"O God!"

"You must really be bold," continued Micheline, in a furious tone, "to
seek him here, in my house, almost in my arms!"

Jeanne drew herself up, blushing with shame and grief.

"Ah! don't think," she said, "that love brings me here."

"What is it then?" asked Micheline, contemptuously.

"The knowledge of inevitable and pressing danger which threatens Serge."

"A danger! Of what kind?"

"Compromised by Herz